


Fragment

by wumbo_requiem



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Blasphemy, Fluff and Angst, Godklok, M/M, Post-Episode: s04 The Doomstar Requiem, Priest!Charles, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, god!Pickles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27275296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wumbo_requiem/pseuds/wumbo_requiem
Summary: Charles gives Pickles a clue about the prophecy. And they kiss a lil.To fill the Kloktober prompt 'monsters or gods'.
Relationships: Charles Foster Offdensen/Pickles the Drummer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Fragment

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty mushy all things considered and focuses heavily on their relationship, with some vague worldbuilding. I don't think I've written Chickles before but they've been living in my head rent free for a couple days now. Hope you enjoy! <3

"Bein' a gahd is hard work," Pickles yawns, stretching an arm over his head. 

"I'll bet." Charles sits a few spaces away from him in the pew. Stained glass sunlight colours his cheek. He looks holy in his robes- some might say he looks more saintly than the god sitting next to him. 

"I haven't worked this hard in my entire career, Charlie- er- Father Charles?" He says with a laugh. 

Charles reddens. "Please, just call me what you’re used to calling me. Not that much has changed..." More had changed when he'd come back from the dead than when he took on the role of High Holy Priest. 

Pickles smiles warmly at him. "I know. I'm just messing with ya. But really, how  _ are _ you, Charlie?" 

Every day is about balance. He's constantly keeping an eye on the balance of powers in the universe, to make sure that the scales haven't tipped too far one way or the other. Tracking any signs of activity from the Half Man, who is slowly tearing the world apart in his pursuit of the gods.

But Dethklok is too good at hiding. Charles has made sure of that. 

"I've been… very busy as well. It reminds me of being back in the office, except instead of mountains of paperwork, I've got, ah, mystic ancient artifacts. And the like." He cracks a smile. "Honestly I'm still getting the hang of it all. And you?”

"Gettin’ used to the gahd stuff. I can control the floatin’ now! Theenks fer askin'. How's the Church?" 

"They're still in grief, but they're diligent." 

Right, because of Ishnifus. Pickles nods, acknowledging the dark tone he didn't mean to bring to the conversation. He's quiet for a couple of moments. He doesn't know how to lighten up the mood so he gets serious.

"What was it they told you? The reason you called me here today?" 

The word. "Right. Today, they discovered the word "Rebuild" within the prophecy." 

Rejoin, Rebuild. Those are the new words they have so far. "Context?" Pickles asks.

Charles shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Pickles, all we got was the fragment. I promise we're still working on interpreting it-" 

"Makes no  _ sense _ !" The sound of Pickles' foot connecting with the pew in front of him resounds throughout the empty cathedral. Charles looks around, as if he can see the echo. It reminds him of just how alone they are. He isn’t afraid of the god lashing out, and tries to calm him down.

"It will. I’m sure that in time, like the rest of the prophecy, it will make sense." 

Pickles is quiet. Two purple phantom arms have come out to join his real ones in covering his head as he rests it against the pew he just kicked. He's trying to control his breathing. Charles gives him a minute, and when he lifts his head up, the second arms retract.

"D’you think we'll figure it out in time?" 

Charles bites his lip, and slowly nods. "Yes. I do. I think you boys will come through. The Half Man hasn't shown up on our radar in… quite a while. I think he's lost you for the time b-" 

"Charlie." 

He stops talking. 

"That's all well 'n good! But I wasn't talkin’ about the band…" he trails off, getting quieter with every word. 

Oh. "Ah. I-" Charles swallows, shakes his head, tries to make sense of the words trying to jump out of his mouth all at once. He lowers his voice, even though they are alone. "I'm sorry, Pickles. But I don't think now is the right time for us. We both need to focus on our duties. Our work is paramount to… It's just important." He blinks, looking down at his hands folded in his lap, black robes draping to the floor. As a holy man, his better judgement is telling him to push his feelings down. But that's easier said than done. 

Pickles gapes at him. Charles is avoiding his hurt eyes. "But- but after everything-? Charlie, right now might be the _only_ time for u s!" His voice breaks and he covers his mouth, starting to shake. The fear that they might never have another chance is sinking in and sucking the joy out of rare moments like this, where they  _ do _ get to be together. 

Pickles isn't alone in feeling this.

"Don't say that…" 

"Don't act like you don't know it's  _ true _ ! I'm  _ scared _ ! It's the end of the goddamn  _ world _ !" He sniffs and wipes his nose on his armband. "Fuck, man. I just wanted to spend the rest of it with you." 

Without warning, Pickles stands up and turns away, then, hovering a few inches off the ground, starts to float toward the exit, like a sad, slow ghost. 

Charles' expression changes for a second, then his stone face is back. He gets up without a word and grabs Pickles by the back of his shirt. 

"Hey. Don't swear in my church." 

Pickles wriggles out of his grip and faces him, eyes wide and reflecting the colourful light. His feet return to the ground.

Charles feels his own expression soften. And suddenly, they're two water fountains clinging to each other. Charles bumps into a pew and leans his back against it for support, holding Pickles like he might slip through his grasp again. He wasn't supposed to break, but Pickles had been right, and he can't stand to be wrong. Not about this. 

"I'm so sahrry, Charles! We're gonna fix it! I prahmise!" Pickles wails into the priest's shoulder. Charles holds Pickles' head tight, smoothing over his scalp and hair. Barely holding it together himself.

"Shh, shhh. You don't have to tell me that. I know," he sniffs. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. I have full faith in you. In  _ you, _ Pickles…" He bows his head, partially in reverence but mostly under the weight of a sob coming on, and rests his forehead against Pickles'. When he dares to look at him, he can barely see through the water that has collected in his glasses. 

Pickles takes them off and wipes the tears from Charles’ cheeks and glasses, then puts them back on him. They look at each other and smile. It's been a while since they've been like this. Not since before they started taking this god-prophecy stuff seriously. Not since the beginning of Salacia’s rain of terror across the earth. 

"C'mahn, Charlie. We can take _ breaks _ . You deserve one more than anyone." 

Charles can't hold back his smile. Rest sounds good, if only for few minutes. "Maybe… I'll allow it… just this once." His eyes linger on Pickles' lips. A strange feeling comes over him. A desire to rebel against the rules comes full force, stronger than ever. To kiss someone in this church, in these robes. And not just anyone, but one of the very gods he serves. The one he loved in a different life and will love throughout the next. Will it affect the natural balance of things?

Pickles seems to be thinking the same thing, because he smirks, and leans in, and Charles closes his eyes. As soon as their lips connect, he feels a rush. The combined powers of Love and Abundance, Passion and Fire flowing through him unlike anything he has ever felt. The tingle of familiar lips, charged with an unfamiliar hot energy, moving against his.

"Wh-." Charles has to catch his breath after breaking away. He feels different. Like he could float if he wanted to. He doesn’t try. “What did you do?” His voice is more curious than accusing.

“Nothin’, I swear. It must just be somethin’ that happens now. What did it feel like?” Pickles is the happiest Charles has seen him in a long time, and he can’t believe he has the power to please him with a simple kiss. It’s so unmistakably human how the his skin flushes pink at a loving touch or the right word. 

Charles has a hard time answering the question. What  _ didn _ ’t it feel like? “It felt like warmth. And energy. And, well, like your spirit was a part of me.” It was so much more, but these are the only words he has to describe it. The inside of his body feels so pleasantly numb from the sensation that he forgets who and where he is for a minute. It brings back memories of them both in Pickles’ bedroom at Mordhaus, lying in bed together with no  _ idea _ what the future would hold for them; and memories even earlier than that, when they were both young and each without a care in the world, really. 

How times have changed.

A pang of sadness hits him and ruins the high of the moment. Pickles picks up on it and lifts up Charles’ chin with a corporeal hand, the three others holding him by his back, his waist. “What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, c’mahn.”

Charles gives in with a sigh. Ruining Pickles’ good mood is last on his list. “I was just thinking of the past. How things used to be for us.” He shakes his head, sobering. “I shouldn’t be so emotional.” He gently peels Pickles’ hands off him and Pickles frowns. 

"Why naht? You've every right. Yer  _ human _ . It's okay to  _ feel _ . Tell me what yer feelin'." His hands itch to hold him again.

After looking around a bit, Charles meets Pickles' eyes again and decides to spill it. "Things used to be so simple. We used to live together, and enjoyed each other's company on a daily basis. And we, ah, can't have that now. Because of the way things are. We just. Can't." He's at his breaking point again, but this time finds the strength to hold it in. It feels selfish to complain, and now he wishes he hadn’t. 

The look on Pickles' face is empathetic. "Yeah. I feel ya. And it stinks. But we  _ will _ have that again. Once all this shit is over. Ope, pardon my French." He pauses. "I think I figured it out." 

"Figured what out?" Charles frowns.

"The word. Y'know, Rebuild? We gahtta let the world fall apart so we can rebuild it. There's no savin' it if we tried- which we _ are _ !- but we can start it again. N' I think that's pretty metal of us." 'Us', as if they'll both survive it together. He laces his fingers with Charles', gives him a loving squeeze. Charles feels a light version of that feeling from before, spreading from his palms all the way up to his shoulders, from which point it floods his head. The sensation numbs his growing concerns. He trusts Pickles deeply. He knows Pickles will do everything he can to keep him safe, even at the end of the world. 

"Is that what you believe?" 

Pickles looks at him with conviction. "With all my bleedin' heart, Charlie." 

A bell begins to ring, a big one, signaling that their time is over. Charles hugs Pickles tightly before he has to go. Pickles hangs on with a gentle, warm grip, not wanting to leave. But he must return to the others. They break apart, hesitant. 

"I'll see ya again before ya even know it," he tells Charles, who nods, hoping that’s true.

"Thank you for coming. I know that we can both be busy, but it's ah, important that we meet every now and again. Because of the prophecy." He clears his throat lightly. "And of course, because I get to see  _ you _ ."

"Awww. C'meeere." Pickles stretches his arms wide for a final parting hug. Charles falls right back into them, and stays there for as long as he can before Pickles has to go. So many words get stuck in his throat that he thinks he’s going to cry all over again. He manages to tear himself away, but not before Pickles can place a kiss on his forehead. 

“Say hello to my boys. Tell them I’m very proud of them,” Charles says with a smile. He misses them, wherever they are.

Pickles grins. “I will.” He gives a little wave with all four hands that makes Charles laugh, and in an instant, he’s vanished into a cloud of dissipating purple smoke. 


End file.
